


Got a Smoke?

by rpfwriters



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Anxious Chris Evans, F/M, Female Reader, Gen, Language, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 15:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpfwriters/pseuds/rpfwriters
Summary: While taking a break, Chris turns up and asks you for a cigarette.





	Got a Smoke?

The crowd was too loud, boisterous, the screams growing louder at the arrival of each celebrity, it was getting on your nerves, fueling the anxiety in your chest. You stepped back, slid the cell phone you had been using to get pictures and videos into your back pocket, and jogged around the corner where it was quieter, darker, away from the surge of activity.

You pulled in a deep drag of your freshly-lit cigarette, closing your eyes at the burn. Some people didn’t understand, but smoking helped your anxiety, got the voices to stop clamoring for your attention, all at once, clawing up your chest, ripping into your heart. Smoking wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but by God, it fucking worked for you.

Scraping a hand over your face, you caught movement to your left, but paid whoever it was no mind. It wasn’t like it was a bad part of town, or anything like that. Your head lolled back as you exhaled, and that was when you knew you weren’t alone.

“I uh, you got a smoke?” he rasped, voice tight, anxious, just as you had been minutes earlier.

Notching your cigarette between your lips, you extracted the half-empty pack, pulled out a cigarette, and handed it to the stranger. “Need a light?”

“That’s the one thing I’ve got,” he answered, echoed by the ratchet of his lighter. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” You hadn’t turned to see who had joined you, just continued staring at absolutely nothing.

He shuffled his feet as he exhaled loudly, more a groan than anything else, and you knew exactly how he felt. Crowds were never your thing, so how you became a reporter was beyond you. Truth was, times were hard and you needed a job.

“You working the shindig?” you asked, wanting to fill the almost silence with something more than just two people enjoying a cigarette together.

He chuckled at that. “I guess you could say that.” That was when you finally looked at him.

“Holy shit,” you coughed, the smoke catching in your throat. “You… you’re Chris Evans.”

Chris held out his right hand after notching his cigarette between his lips. “So I’ve been told.”

“God, I’m an idiot,” you murmured to yourself as you shook his hand, trying damn hard not to focus on how small he made you feel.

“Idiot?” he repeated, his brows furrowed. “Why do you say that?”

With your eyes squeezed shut, you shrugged. “Dunno, just the first thing that pops into my head when I sound like… an idiot?”  _God, would you shut up?!_

Chris laughed while shaking his head. “That is by far  _not_  the dumbest thing I’ve heard someone say.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“That’s probably a better conversation for our second date,” he announced, his shoulders shaking as he laughed some more.

Your eyebrow arched. “Does that make this a first date?”

“How about a pre-first date?” he answered with a question of his own.

You about choked on the smoke in your throat. “You sound confident that I’ll even accept.”

“Well, I  _am_  Chris Evans,” he announced with a barely contained smile.

“Are you?” you asked, eyes scanning over his deliciously tall and thick frame. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Chris took a long drag as he stared at you, humor lighting up his eyes. “You wanna get outta here?”

“Don’t think I’ll say yes just because you’re a celebrity,” you noted, pointing your cigarette at him.

“What? No. Oh, God no,” was his sputtering response. “I just meant… I hate these kinds of things.” He motioned toward the front of the building. “Not that I don’t appreciate the fans and everything they do, it’s just -”

“Fuckin’ overload for my anxiety,” you interrupted.

Chris smiled warmly at you, taking a step closer. “You, too?”

“In a huge way,” you admitted, squeezing the cherry from your cigarette and scraping the toe of your boot over it. “You ready?”

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” he said with a grin, stubbing out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe.


End file.
